Learning to Dance Again

by Frankie Valente

  The train pulled out of the dark station and back into the bright sunshine that blinded Julia to the view. Her sunglasses were packed inside her suitcase, and she didn’t want to open it up on the train. She picked up her suitcase and shuffled across the aisle to the seats on the other side.

  Julia took out her guide book to Sicily and opened up the well-thumbed page containing the map. The train-line hugged the North coast and would cut through Palermo and other seaside towns until it reached Cefalu and would then continue on to Messina, where it was possible to cross the narrow stretch of sea to the Italian mainland. She looked up from the book and concentrated on the view. The landscape was browner than she had imagined it would be. For some reason she had envisaged green fields, full of lush lemon trees and olive plantations. There were a few trees dotted about in the gardens of the apartments and villas she passed, but there were vast patches of bare terracotta soil, bleached by the sun; rocky and barren in places. It was still exotically attractive, particularly with the deep blue sea in the background.

  Despite the fact Julia had a sea view all year round from her house her attention was still drawn to the water. This was the kind of blue only available to Shetlanders on special days, when the skies were clear of clouds. Those were the days she loved best of all, and she smiled when she realised this would be her view of the sea for whole of October; or at least she hoped it would.

  Julia turned her gaze to the young woman opposite her. She wore a cream linen skirt suit, with short sleeves that exposed lean bronzed arms and a jangle of bracelets on each wrist. She had a corporate looking briefcase beside her, which looked incongruous with her vertiginous strappy sandals, coiffed hair and oversized sunglasses. She flicked through her Italian Vogue magazine impatiently, and then flung it on the seat beside her and reached into her pocket for her phone. She appeared equally annoyed with the phone and after tapping at it with her perfectly manicured fingers, she set it down on top of her magazine, but did not let go of it. She looked up and met Julia’s eyes and turned away to look out of the window, clearly disgruntled with something.

  Julia wondered what it was like to be so young, glamorous and attractive; she had never looked as immaculate at this young woman. She turned her attention to some of the other passengers and noticed the women, even the ones who were clearly older than herself, all looked glossy and elegant. She looked down at her jeans and flat, comfy Clarks’ sandals, her chain store tee shirt and felt very drab. She was like a dull brown Shetland wren by comparison to the pretty canaries that shared the carriage.

  The door to the carriage slammed shut. She looked up and saw a man in uniform weaving his way towards her, pausing to check tickets. He grunted his thanks and passed the tickets back to people, without a smile on his face. However, when he noticed the woman opposite Julia, his whole demeanour changed instantly. He leaned proprietorially close to her and rested his hand on the back of her seat. The woman moved away from him and reached into her bag for her ticket. They exchanged words, none of which Julia could understand, but it was obvious the ticket inspector was trying, unsuccessfully, to flirt with her. Brushing off his rejection he turned to Julia and scowled.

  Julia handed him her ticket, her hand waiting mid-air for him to give it back. However, the inspector did not seem very happy with it. He launched into what seemed to be a familiar speech. He poked the ticket and showed it to Julia.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand,’ Julia said.

  ‘You not validate ticket, fifty euro fine please.’

  Julia stared at the man, who glared back.

  ‘I bought the ticket just now, what’s wrong with it? I don’t understand.’

  The inspector, having run out of the only English he knew to explain the situation, sighed in exaggerated bad temper.

  ‘Fifty euro fine please.’

  Julia had no idea what she had done wrong but she obviously had to pay some money or maybe risk being thrown off the train at the next stop. She started to unzip her handbag to get her purse out, but in her haste the zip caught on the silk lining of the bag and refused to budge. She tugged at it, making it worse, all the while the inspector stood beside her, muttering darkly. She didn’t need to be bilingual to understand what he thought of her. When the zip refused to move in either direction, Julia’s hands started to shake with frustration and nerves.

  ‘I come back!’

  The inspector handed Julia her ticket and walked away, checking other passengers tickets as he went. Julia took a deep breath and returned to the task of trying to open her handbag. The zip still refused to open though.

  ‘Can I try?’

  Julia looked up and saw the young woman lean forward and smile.

  ‘It happens to me all the time. I’m good at this.’

  Julia handed the bag to her. The woman slipped an elegant finger inside and eased at the fabric and then carefully released the fold of material that had jammed the zip. She unzipped the bag a couple of inches then passed it back to Julia.

  ‘Thanks so much. I was getting really worried there; I wasn’t expecting to pay a fine on my ticket. Do you know what’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Oh, it’s simple; you did not validate the ticket before you got on the train. There are machines at the station that stamp the time and date so you can only use the ticket once. So many tourists get caught out. It’s a silly system; but now you know.’

  ‘Oh, right. How stupid of me; I didn’t know you had to do that. I’ve never been on a train in another country before. In fact I have hardly ever been on a train, full stop.’

  The woman smiled in sympathy. Julia took out her purse and withdrew a fifty euro note and held it in her hand in readiness for the inspector’s return.

  ‘You are on holiday on your own? You are visiting friends?’

  ‘Yes, I’m on my own. My husband died recently. He really wanted to visit Sicily, so I decided to come here anyway.’

  ‘Oh; I’m so sorry.’

  Julia smiled her thanks, just as the inspector appeared at her side again. Once again he leered at the young woman, who turned away from him in disgust.

  Before Julia had time to give him the money the young woman suddenly launched into a tirade of abuse at him. He stepped back in surprise, and although he was annoyed, his shoulders dropped a little of their swagger. He turned and looked at Julia, and she realised she was being talked about.

  He waved away the money from Julia and stalked off in a huff.

  ‘Thank you; but what just happened?’

  ‘I told him off for being rude to a widow, and for harassing a young female lawyer.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you. And thank you for telling me how to use the ticket machines. I won’t make that mistake again.’

  ‘No problem. It’s my stop now. Enjoy Sicily.’

  The train pulled into Palermo Centrale station and the woman got off with a little wave to Julia.

  The rest of the journey passed without any further drama and ninety minutes later Julia got off the train at Cefalu, into the scorching mid-day sun.

  She wheeled her suitcase over to the café just outside the station and took a seat at a table outside. A waiter hurried over and handed her a menu.

  She ordered a dish of strawberry gelato and a bottle of mineral water. While she waited for her order she watched people wandering in and out of the station. A young couple pulled up on a scooter close to her table. The girl climbed off the back of the scooter and kissed her boyfriend. Neither of them wore a crash helmet which made Julia feel anxious on behalf of their parents. The girl turned and walked towards the station, click-clacking along the pavement on high heeled sandals; she paused and blew her boyfriend another kiss and he revved the engine of his moped and sped off.

  Julia took out her phone and sent the landlord of her holiday villa a text to say she had arrived in Cefalu and was at the café where they had agreed to meet. Almost immediately she got a text back saying he would be along to pick her up in twenty minutes.
Her gelato arrived as she put the phone back in her bag.

  Julia was pretty fond of ice cream, but this was strawberry flavoured heaven. She sighed with pleasure and put the spoon down. She did not want to rush this moment. It was so strange sitting in the sunshine eating gelato when just a few hours earlier she had been in chilly rainy London, and a few days before that in even colder, rainier Shetland. She took out her phone again and took a photograph of the gelato and sent it to Marianne.

  She got a text a moment later.

  “Lucky cow! It’s not ice cream weather here. Enjoy! Any gorgeous Italian stallions in sight?”

  Julia looked around and noticed an old man selling newspapers from a cart outside the station. He wore a dark blue cap pulled down over his eyes and a battered looking leather jacket, which made Julia feel hotter than she already was. She discreetly took a photograph of him and sent it to Marianne.

  “You wouldn’t think it was so hot here. He must be melting,” Julia wrote.

  She finished her dessert, savouring every intense mouthful, and drank her water and felt a little more refreshed after the tiring journey. She wanted nothing more than to get to her villa, unpack and then have a lazy afternoon by the pool, or even a siesta.

  A bright red Fiat 500 convertible pulled up outside the station. An elegant middle-aged man got out of the car and leaned against the door. He wore a white linen shirt, cream trousers and brown leather loafers. He took off his sunglasses and looked over at Julia and waved.

  Julia paid the waiter and hurried over towards him.

  ‘Hello, you must be Julia. Lovely to meet you; I’m Tony Hugo. Welcome to Sicily!’

  Julia shook hands with him.

  ‘Nice to meet you too. Thanks for coming to pick me up.’

  ‘No problem. Let me take your bag.’

  ‘Lovely car! I don’t think I’ve ever been in a car with the roof down before. This should be fun.’

  ‘Oh that’s right; you’re from Shetland aren’t you? Well this must be a pleasant change for you.’

  Julia grinned at him as she got in the passenger seat.

  ‘Just a bit.’

  Tony started the engine and they set off along the busy street towards the town centre and then took a sharp turn towards the mountains that rose up almost immediately from the edge of the town.

  A cooling breeze ruffled Julia’s hair and she rested her arm on the edge of the door.

  ‘How was your journey here?’ Tony asked.

  ‘Well apart from nearly getting a fifty euro fine for not validating my train ticket, it wasn’t bad. And I’m a little bit tired now after getting up at five this morning.’

  ‘Well you have a whole month to get over that. I’ve never had anyone staying that long before. Most people come for just a week or two. What prompted you to come over here for so long?’

  Julia paused for a moment, wondering whether to tell him the truth or to find some more palatable explanation. She had no idea how much contact she would have with her landlord.

  ‘It’s my fiftieth birthday this month, and I really didn’t feel much like celebrating it, so I decided to run away to Sicily and hide away from the world.’

  ‘That’s a bit drastic. You don’t look that old; why are you so fed up about turning fifty?

  ‘Well,’ Julia sighed, ‘the truth is, my husband died in April and I’ve been sitting around the house ever since, getting more and more fed up. I decided I might as well be miserable in the sun.’

  ‘Ah, I see. I’m sorry to hear that. My wife died five years ago so I know how you feel. Well, I can certainly promise you some sunshine, and I hope it makes you feel a little less miserable.’

  ‘Did it work for you?’

  ‘Not really; no.’

  Tony smiled conspiratorially at her as they stopped at a junction and waited for a gap in the traffic.

  ‘What brought you to Sicily? You’re English aren’t you?’

  ‘My wife was Italian. Eleonora taught English at the University in Palermo; but we met in London while she was still studying.'

  ‘I see. So what do you do?’

  ‘I’m a writer; so I can pretty much work where I like.’

  ‘What kind of writing do you do?’

  ‘Crime novels mostly.’

  Julia turned to look at him; she was picturing the bookshelf in her bedroom. There were a number of novels sitting on the shelves that Duncan had enjoyed reading, and she had an image of one of them in her head.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re Anthony Hugo who wrote In Too Deep?’

  ‘That’s me,’ he replied, looking faintly embarrassed.

  ‘Duncan used to read your books. We have some at home. I haven’t read any of them though, sorry. Wow, I can’t believe it. Duncan would have been thrilled to have met you.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet him too. I don’t meet many people who have read my books any more. I don’t do book tours these days. My publisher gets pissed off with me, but since Eleonora died, I can’t be arsed to leave Sicily much. I don’t have many reasons to go back to the UK. My parents died years ago, and my son and daughter live in Italy. They’re both at University in Rome.’

  They were driving down a very narrow lane lined with trees and giant cactus plants. Tony slowed the car and turned into a driveway and stopped in front of a wrought iron gate. He picked up a remote control from a compartment on the dashboard and pointed it at a control on the gatepost. The gate swung open slowly and they carried on up the long shady driveway until the villa came into view.

  An old and battered blue Fiat Panda was parked on the driveway next to a white scooter. Tony parked the car and got out and opened up the boot. He took out Julia’s suitcase and led the way to the side of the main house.

  Julia followed, feeling a quiver of excitement at seeing where she would be spending the next few weeks. At the back of the villa there was an open view of the sea. Julia hadn’t appreciated how high up the side of the mountain they had driven; it hadn’t seemed very far, and yet they seemed to be looking down at the sea from a great height.

  ‘Wow, what a view. This is even better than it looked online.’

  ‘Everybody says that. It’s hard to get a photograph to do this justice.’

  They crossed a paved terrace and stopped at a little iron gate in the middle of a low hedge. Tony opened it and Julia followed him to the little stone built villa. It shared the same view of the sea as the main house, but was actually quite private in its own little garden.

  Tony opened the front door and stood back to let Julia in. It was disappointingly dark inside and Julia bit her lip anxiously, as she surveyed the open plan living room and kitchen. The windows were covered by dark wooden shutters that made it seem like late evening, rather than the middle of the day.

  ‘I closed the shutters as it gets a bit hot in here when the sun comes up in the morning. It’s up to you whether you open them or not.’ Tony stood by the open door and indicated outside, ‘it’s quite private out here on the veranda; nobody can see you from my villa. You can get to the swimming pool from a gate at the bottom of your garden. The pool is heated by solar energy and I hardly ever use it so you will have it to yourself most of the time.’

  ‘That’s great thanks.’

  ‘I was just wondering how you’re going to get around, as you haven’t hired a car yet? I can recommend a car hire company in the town if you like.’

  ‘Actually, I have a confession to make; I’ve never driven a car on mainland Britain, let alone a foreign country. I was too scared to hire a car. But we’re only a couple of miles out of the town aren’t we. I thought I might just walk everywhere, and maybe get a taxi if I have groceries to carry.’

  ‘It might only be two miles but it’s not a road I would particularly recommend walking along. It’s not very safe for pedestrians, not the way us locals drive along it; and taxis cost the earth in Sicily. Hiring a car might be your best option, if you can pluck up the courage; and it’s
probably not as bad driving over here as you might think.’

  Julia pulled a face, as if she didn’t believe him. He laughed.

  ‘One of my sons is thinking of joining me for a few days, with his girlfriend. He’ll definitely hire a car, so I think I’ll manage alright. We’ll see.’

  Tony spent a few minutes explaining how the satellite television, the hot water and the air conditioning worked in the property. When he had finished Julia followed him out to the veranda and they stood for a moment looking down at the sea.

  ‘I was just thinking; unless you go into town again this afternoon, you won’t be able to cook anything for your dinner. I’m having some friends over later; you’re more than welcome to join us. They all speak English.’

  ‘Thanks, but I feel really tired now, I might just have a quiet first night here.’

  ‘Well if you change your mind, we’ll be eating around nine. Us Sicilians eat very late at night.’

  ‘I think I’ll be fast asleep by that time,’ Julia said, yawning already.

  ‘Just come to the house if you need anything. I work from home, so if my car’s outside, then I’m in.’

  Julia took a few minutes to explore the villa. It was even more luxurious than she had imagined it would be. There were two bedrooms which had large shuttered windows. One room faced the mountain and the other faced the sea. She couldn’t make up her mind which one she wanted to sleep in. Both views were lovely.

  The kitchen was equipped with everything she would need. There was a bottle of Prosecco chilling in the fridge, a large bottle of locally produced olive oil in the cupboard and a fruit bowl full of fresh lemons and limes, which she presumed had been picked from the trees outside. There was no other food though, and Julia realised she would have to find some way of getting to the supermarket fairly soon.

  However, for the time being she was too tired to think about food. She took a quick shower and then changed into a floral maxi-dress Marianne had lent her. It was cool and elegant, and when she found her sunglasses at the bottom of her case she put them on and ventured outside.